Upadana
by ruth baulding
Summary: Attachment leads to the fear of loss; or, what happened to the velveteen rabbit in the Jedi Temple crèche. Pint-pot tragicomedy.
1. Chapter 1

**Upadana**

* * *

_The furry protagonist of this tale was invented by Valairy Scot. I hope she doesn't mind sharing, because –after all – attachment is forbidden._

* * *

**Scene 1**

Reeft started it.

In the sense that he brought the matter to the attention of Ali Alaan, thereby initiating the chain of events that followed. The four-year-old Dressalian did not mean to make trouble, but trouble was the inevitable result of his innocent if vocal request.

"You can't have him all for _yourself!"_ he complained, mildly. "You have to share."

Jedi younglings must share everything. They are not allowed toys earmarked specially as their personal property. Their sleeping mats and pillows and blankets are laundered together and redistributed every few days, without regard to ownership. Even their clothing is only properly their own because it has been measured to fit – rather roughly, that is. Too much detail lavished upon garments would be a form of luxurious personal ornament.

The culprit immediately handed his cherished companion over. T'k'ta's tattered velveteen fur had already been smoothed by several prior generations. He was missing an eye, and one of his ears was suspiciously ragged. His whiskers visibly drooped. His stuffing, originally suggestive of the powerful muscular build of his original, was now the flabby and toneless fluff of a well-loved sleeping companion. And yet, he still somehow commanded a great deal of respect within the borders of his tiny kingdom.

"Careful," Obi-Wan advised his playmate. "He bites. He's always hungry."

The Dressalian was not intimidated, likely because he shared these traits with T'k'ta. He clutched at his prize and toddled away, content. Which was a mistake.

"Hey. You can't have him for yourself. You have to share," another small voice piped up.

Reeft hesitated, flustered by the sudden reversal. He squeezed T'K'ta a bit closer against his chest, silently protesting, but the other boy was not to be so easily put off.

"Give him up," he commanded.

There was no ready objection to be made to this directive; after all, the bully had a point. Sharing was the right thing; hoarding was _bad. _Reluctantly, Reeft relinquished his newly acquired prize to the tow-headed interloper.

"Ha!" this person triumphed, dashing off. He dragged T'k'ta by the tail, bumping his already battered nose against the playroom's floor.

It was dreadfully discourteous.

Obi-Wan, roused to action by the crestfallen slump of Reeft's shoulders, and the abuse being inflicted upon the long-suffering T'k'ta, placed himself in the brigand's path. "Hey! You can't do that! You're hurting him!"

Bruck thrust his lower lip out churlishly. "You're not the boss of me."

Which, though it had the obvious advantage of truth, was an ineffectual argument. Obi-Wan had a trump card to play. "He's not _yours."_

A pair of pale eyes narrowed in resentment. ""So?"

Another pair of eyes danced with the first seeds of combative wit. "So maybe you should _share."_

The irony was not wasted upon Bruck; though he could not quite parse out the logical fallacy that had landed him in the loser's circle to this argument, he clearly felt the other's delight at having scored a point. Those nearby, who were in a position to serve as first hand witnesses, all gave conflicting accounts of the resulting ruckus. It was unclear therefore who managed the impressive feat of Force-pushing the other one onto his behind, and who managed the same feat by the more direct method of a swift punch. The immediate upshot of the dispute was that T'k'ta sustained a gash in his already disintegrating seams, and bled fibrofill onto the polished floor; Bruck suffered a wounded dignity and wept angry tears onto the polished floor; and Obi-Wan ended with a bloodied nose which added bright scarlet droplets to the already messy floor.

Ali Alaan intervened swiftly, shooing away all but the main three culprits into the adjacent chamber.

"What's this all about?" the tall master inquired, kneeling to bring his aquiline face level with his tiny charges.

"He started it!" Bruck thrust a finger at his opponent's face.

"He _ripped_ T'k'ta!" the other boy retorted, halfway between lamentation and outrage.

The crèche master sighed in disappointment. "We do not _fight_ over a mere possession." He issued the stern reminder with a frown that silenced both boys. He icked up the bedraggled victim – and occasion- of the dispute. "Such behavior is most unbecoming. In fact, I think T'k'ta shall spend this evening with _me. _ He needs to be repaired."

Obi-Wan scrubbed hands over his round cheeks, smearing salty moisture into the crimson trails already dribbling down his chin. "I can't sleep with him tonight?"

"No," Master Ali told him, fishing about for the med-kit and a clean cloth.

Bruck made a terrible face at his rival while the tall Jedi was distracted.

"That's enough," the crèche master growled at him, back still turned. "You may join the others." He watched the tow-headed boy scamper away, spite overriding any remorse he might feel, and wiped down the remaining child's face.

"I always sleep with T'k'ta," Obi-Wan insisted.

"Well," Ali Alaan reasoned with him gently, "This will be good practice. You are going to join a clan soon, and leave T'k'ta behind. It's time you grew accustomed to sleeping without him. He is an attachment you will have to give up."

The boy nodded, eyes wide and sorrowful. "Will you fix him?"

"I shall restore him to his former glory," the tall man assured his small charge. "After all, he is T'k'ta, fearsome Scourge of the Creche."

Obi-Wan stared at him solemnly. "I always sleep with him" he repeated, this time more in helpless bemusement than anything else.

"Not tonight, you aren't," Ali Alaan gently informed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Upadana**

* * *

**Scene 2**

Ali Alaan's words turned out to be prophetic: Obi-Wan did not sleep with T'k'ta that night. Indeed, he did no sleep at all.

Garen Muln, typically and uselessly sprawled out on his back with eyes closed and mouth open, was in no position to give counsel or lend a sympathetic ear to his friend's distress. The others, from tiny baby Yamee in his crib down to Bruck's tight cocoon of stolen coverlets at the far end of the floor mats, were all firmly occupied in similar activities. The Force was softly textured by contentment and the eddies of bright, infantile dreams.

And rent down the middle by the absence of a beloved companion.

Nighttime is an excellent occasion for uninterrupted philosophical speculation, and youth is also a fine time of life for it. Extreme youth is not, as some would think, an impediment to such activities. Even a man of five years old may indulge from time to time in a spurt of melancholic brooding, when circumstances conspire to challenge his carefully cultivated serenity. The meandering paths of his thought might bear some translation to be understood by the more sophisticated, but they wander nonetheless down the same avenues of moral dilemma and metaphysical wonderment that have fascinated sentient beings since the beginning of time.

Thus rendered into rational statements, and reduced to simplest form, the wakeful initiate's ponderings might be summed up as follows: T'k'ta was not used to sleeping alone. Furthermore, he had been hurt in the afternoon's scuffle. Consequently, he was sure to be in a sour mood and liable to inflict dastardly Scourging upon the crèche. Having never seen the generally fair-tempered creature actually demonstrate the basis of his fearsome title, the younglings were left to the devices of their own imagination when it came to details – but they were sure to be horrible. One reason that T'k'ta had to always have a reliable companion at night was for the sake of the innocents in the crèche, especially the very very small ones. Somebody had to prevent T'k'ta from rampaging wantonly during the long watches of night. Another reason was that T'k'ta himself was not invulnerable to the depredations of internecine strife – as the dispute earlier demonstrated, he too could use a shield and anchor against harm. Thus, there was a two-fold demand for a peacekeeper, someone to stand in the middle of things, so to speak, one who could lull T'k'ta into innocuous slumber and keep a tight hold on him while the dormitory's occupants slept, and one who could thus also stand between T'k'ta and his enemies, like that big stupid Bruck.

Right now neither of these vital duties was being fulfilled. Anything might happen. T'k'ta might fly into a rage and Scourge them all; Bruck might wake from his own uneasy dreams and make another savage attack upon T'k'ta' already questionable integrity, perhaps inflicting an even worse wound. Either eventuality was intolerable. And obviously, the burden of solving the problem squarely rested upon the slight shoulders of he to whom it had first occurred.

Ignoring Garen's placid snores beside him and Reeft's inertly bundled limbs across the way, Obi-Wan rose and figuratively girded himself for war, wrapping his small blanket about himself and padding forthrightly out the door, across the darkened space between the two chambers, and into Ali Alaan's small personal sleeping nook.

T'k'ta was there, slumped upon a high inset shelf in the pale wall. A sliver of illumination fell upon his bedraggled fur. It would be _easy _ to get him. Hands stretched out, mind focused upon having that familiar soft form in his arms, Obi-Wan knew that the creature would come sailing into his grasp, floating upon the Force's invisible currents.

But that would be wrong, because hadn't Master Ali said he wasn't to have T'k'ta tonight? He stood frowning over it for a few moments, frozen in place upon the threshold. And then he decided to resort to negotiation. He climbed upon the low sleep platform and planted both small hands against Ali Alaan's broad shoulder, shaking vigorously. The tall man stirred, and then extended an arm and softly touched the intruder's face.

"Obi-Wan," he sighed, as though he weren't at all surprised. He sat up, jet black hair threaded with silver cascading over his shoulders. "Awake _again?"_

"I'm worried about T'k'ta."

"Ah." Master Ali shifted further, settling the visitor in his lap. "He is perfectly fine, as you can see. I've repaired all the damage but that inflicted by time."

The boy's toes curled in the thin thermal blanket. "Oh… do I really have to leave?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

Master Ali made a tsking noise. "Both the forbidden words in one sentence?"

His young charge squirmed. "I could take T'k'ta with me."

This time the crèche master took a moment to collect his thoughts before he issued response. "You remember the sandcrawlers we saw at the river's edge in the arboretum? The tiny ones with the shells you found so lovely? I told you how they outgrow those shells and must find another that will fit them. Well, you are like that. You've nearly outgrown this shell; you need a larger one. And that will be your clan. And T'k'ta is part of this shell. He will fit some of the others better. Like baby Yamee. I think he will like T'k'ta very much. You would not deprive him of a pleasure and comfort he so needs, would you?"

A thoroughly irrefutable line of argument. Obi-Wan burrowed backward into his chest, defeated. "No," he tentatively answered. "But…. who will portect everyone?"

Master Ali smiled a bit. "I _was_ competent to _por-tect _the crèche before you came along. I think you should trust me better."

Obi-Wan was not entirely sure about this. Master Ali was a pillar of strength and serenity, but the innumerable scars upon T'k'ta's lean frame bespoke a certain laxity in his disciplinary style. T'k'ta needed a _very_ strong hand, the kind of guardian and tamer that could devote singular, unwavering attention to him. He did not dare point these things out to his caretaker, however, so he merely yawned.

"I suggest we redirect your focus to the future. Tomorrow I shall take you to meet Dragon Clan. I think you will be happy there not so long from now. Would you like to meet Master Troon first?"

A sleepy nod met this suggestion, so the patient master of the crèche interpreted this as an affirmative. He lifted the limp youngling up and strode silently into the adjacent dormitory room, depositing his burden upon his empty mat.

After checking that all was right in the confines of his innocent domain, he went back to bed himself. And T'k'ta kept watch from his high perch, wide-eyed and consummately Scourgely despite his tattered appearance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Upadana**

* * *

**Scene 3**

Having secured a period of respite – due to the generous intervention of Master Sifa Ko, an amicable elder who also happened to be a many years' veteran of the crèche – Ali Alaan took the opportunity to take two of his older charges on a small expedition. They walked all the way to the wing where Dragon Clan was housed, hand in hand in hand. Garen and Obi-Wan were quite vivacious, full of high spirits at the prospect of meting the older initiates and the formidable Troon Palo.

Master Ali had to practically hold Garen back by the collar as the youngling tried to cavort down the quiet halls; Obi-Wan, by contract, seemed reluctant to leave the crèche even for the proposed hour.

"Who's taking care of T'k'ta?" he wanted to know.

"Master Sifa will see to him," the tall Jedi assured the boy.

They made it to the next intersection in peace. "Did you tell her about Bruck?"

A full stop, and an admonitory frown. "What about him?"

"How he ripped T'k'ta."

Ali Alaan shook his head. "That is in the past. You must not concern yourself with it, nor with the desire to publish others' faults or failings."

"But – I mean, he could do it again. When she's not looking. 'Cause me and Garen are gone."

"Garen and I."

"No, Garen and _me,_ Master."

The tall man dragged a hand over his face, hiding an amused smile. "T'k'ta is an able defender of his own honor. I want you to meet Master Troon now. I think you will find he has many things in common with your friend T'k'ta."

Which assertion, besides intriguing both boys immensely, also proved to be true. Troon Palo, when he manifested himself upon the threshold to the Dragon Clan's assigned dormitory common room, loomed taller even than Ali Alaan, and broader across the shoulders too – almost as big as a real t'k'ta, which was saying something. Not only this, but he was covered head to foot in luxurious glossy black hair. It wasn't worn and thinning like T'k'ta's but soft and thick, inviting and beautiful. Troon was like a walking t'k'ta himself. He wore only tabards and a sash – and these were delightfully frayed and stained and darkened with the grime of decades, as though he had worn the same badges of honor for his whole life. And better yet, at his hip hung an unmistakable, gleaming 'saber hilt. Obi-Wan's mouth popped open in astonishment and awe.

Master Palo chuckled throatily, and he sounded like a t'k'ta too. "Wondering why I carry that?" he growled.

The boy shook his head. That was obvious. Troon Palo was a full ranking Jedi master, and he carried the sacred emblem with pride. And if _anyone_ ever tried to harm his clan, then it was obvious that the enormous hirsute master would do some Scourging of his own, in a blaze of glorious protective fury.

It was love at first sight.

"Ha!" Troon roared. "Every Clan is named after an animal." He squatted down on his haunches, still dwarfing the two star-struck boys. "Bears are brave, Squalls are swift, Heliosts are smart, Bergruuftas are loyal, Katarns are sneaky. But you know what Dragons are?"

"All of those?" Obi-Wan guessed, eagerly.

Troon snorted. "Right. Plus they're stubborn heads. _Nobody_ and nothing in the galaxy can make a Dragon back away if he doesn't will it. So guess why I'm in charge."

Garen Muln abandoned tact in favor of truth. "You're stubborner than anyone else?"

The Clan Master grinned, revealing purple gums and double rows of razor sharp teeth. His dark eyes twinkled merrily. "Cause I like a _good fight_, you little reprobate!"

The younglings dodged his first dramatic attempt at snatching them and rolled between his legs into the playroom beyond, where Troon's other wards were enjoying a boisterous morning recess.

"So which one do I get?" the gigantic clan master inquired of Ali Alaan.

The latter person grimaced. "Both; it's a two for one deal. I've done my time – I gladly hand this duty over to your capable hands."

Troon waved him away with another rumbling chuckle. "The more the merrier," he decided, waving his colleague away with one huge and undeniably capable paw.

* * *

The one hour visit lengthened into an entire morning and afternoon. When Ali Alaan finally came to retrieve the boys at bedtime, they were all but ready to move into their new quarters at once.

"Soon enough," the tall man informed them. "It appears to be a good fit."

"We're _tenacious,"_ Obi-Wan piped up. "That's why."

"Master Troon said Dragons are naughty 'cept when a bigger dragon teaches them," Garen eagerly informed him. "Then they can be good."

"Krayt dragons are always bad," his friend corrected. "That's why there have to be good dragons. To stop the bad ones that nobody else can."

"I like Master Troon," Garen decided. "He is loud."

"T'k'ta would like him too," Obi-Wan concurred. "They have a great deal in common, like you said. Master. You were right!"

They slowed their pace. Ali Alaan broke the news gently. "Ah, but T'k'ta is the Scourge of the Creche… and that is where he must remain."

A terrible dilemma, one which Obi-Wan spent the remainder of the journey home contemplating, while Garen prattled harmlessly away about the day's happenings.

"Can Bruck come with us to Dragon Clan?" the quiet boy inquired when they reached the double doors.

That caught even Ali Alaan off guard. "What did you say?"

"I think Bruck should move to the Clan with us," his small companion repeated, a tiny furrow appearing between his brows. "It would be good for him." And it would keep the foremost threat to T'k'ta's safety firmly under the watchful eye of Troon Palo, who brooked no nonsense and – by his own admission – liked a good fight.

Master Ali's dark eyebrows rose. "Why do I sense ulterior motives in you?"

The boy turned this phrase over on his tongue a few times, silently, musing upon its possible meaning.

"I don't want Bruck to come with us," Garen Muln offered, glancing apologetically sideways. He was favored with a melting scowl.

"What's an ulterial motif?" Obi-Wan wondered aloud. "Is it bad?"

"Never mind," the elder Jedi murmured, waving open the portals. "Go prepare for sleep. Master Sifa will lead you all in meditation. I'll finalize matters – you will be moving in with Master Troon tomorrow evening."

Garen grabbed his friend's hand and propelled the pair of them into the playroom before Ali Alaan could propound any more details or make further inquiry into the matter of Bruck. He raised his shoulders in a small shrug and gladly turned away down the connecting passage, determined to savor the remainder of his furlough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Upadana**

* * *

**Scene 4**

Master Sifa, though benevolent and wise, was yet herself a stubborn Dragon at heart, and therefore in most un-Jedi-like denial regarding the gradual loss of acuity in vision that accompanied her advanced age. When, upon the following morning, she proposed to take the rambunctious crechelings down to the vast indoor arboretum for a rambling exploration of its groomed paths, this small defect in her sight made it possible for an act of larceny to occur right under her nose and all three rheumy eyes.

Obi-Wan smuggled T'k'ta into the gardens beneath his oversized tunic.

Garen Muln was an accomplice, of course, having been convinced of the rightness of this plan at breakfast that very morning. He acted as spotter, helping shield his friend from view as they obediently filed their way out of the swift tube, across a soaring hall, and through the wide arched doors to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Master Ko nodded and smiled upon her tiny charges as they enthusiastically set off into the misty green expanse, trailed by a handful of younger padawan volunteers. She never noticed the addition to the ranks, nor wondered to for what purpose the kidnapping had been effected.

The conspirators' tunics and trousers were thoroughly muddied by the time they had discovered the perfect location, close to the artificial river's banks, beneath the shaded foliage of a drooping yarbanna tree.

"Here. This is good – just like the holo."

Garen Muln agreed heartily. "He can _ambush unsuspecting prey from the mottled undergrowth_."

Obi-Wan, on hands and knees, brushed some fallen branches aside and settled T'k'ta down in his new lair. "Maybe he can ambush anybody who breaks the rules and goes _swimming."_

His friend's eyes widened. "And _eat_ them?"

"Well." T'k'ta kept flopping over onto his face, so it was necessary to prop him upright with a few well-placed twigs, which took some concentration. "He has to have prey, Garen. It's his _nature._ He Scourges things."

"Oh." Garen squinted through the verdant screen at the streamlet's burbling surface. "And he has lots of water to drink. And a place to sleep."

"Yes, and Bruck can't find him here."

Or so it was to be hoped. They looked with satisfaction upon their handiwork and grinned in unison – with T'k'ta relocated to a safe environment, where he could not be torn to shreds by the Temple's resident hellion, and where his own fierce Scourging proclivities would be limited to those who deserved such fit recompense for rule-breaking, their work was done. They were ready to leave the crèche in good conscience.

Or, almost ready.

"He might get cold at night," Obi-Wan explained, divesting himself of his own tunic and wrapping the stained cream cloth about T'k'ta's sagging shoulders like a proper Jedi robe. The Scourge looked fearsome, sitting sentinel beneath the bush in his voluminous cloak. They added a lightsaber made of a hollowed _umbaau_ reed, for good effect.

"Let's go. Somebody's coming," Garen hissed.

Afraid of discovery by one of the chaperones, they scrambled pell-mell from beneath their rustling and slippery cover – and ended nose to nose with Bruck Chun.

The latter snooping individual narrowed his watery grey eyes suspiciously. "What are you doing in there?" he demanded. "Nobody is allowed near the river. You heard the rules. You're being _bad."_

Garen's chest puffed out with indignation.

Obi-Wan's mouth thinned.

Bruck stepped forward threateningly. "Show me what you were doing in there," he commanded.

Garen's panic lanced bright in the Force; but Obi-Wan was already fully engaged. He crossed both arms. "Then you would be breaking the rules too."

"So?"

"So I'll tell." Distraction could be a powerful ally. Not that Obi-Wan could formulate the thought in just these terms, but he knew what he had to do, with the bright certainty of gut instinct.

"So you'll get in trouble too."

"Fine." Some sacrifices were worth the gain. The smaller boy flashed a defiant look at his rival and started off down the path.

He was knocked flat on his face in the next second. Garen landed atop both of them. Soon enough, they were a single heap of mud-crusted clothing and thrashing limbs- one which required two of the flustered padawan chaperones and poor Master Ko to disentangle. "That is enough!" she sternly interrupted their debate. "I am severely disappointed. You will return to the dormitory immediately and sit in separate corners until we return. And I am certain Master Alaan will have something to say to each of you. Shameful," she finished, eye stalks waving in disappointment. "To think such ruffians harbor any _hope_ of growing into fine young Jedi, Hmmmph."

* * *

The punishment was most effective. Within an hour, Bruck was blubbering for forgiveness from the bored padawan set to stand guard over the malfeasants. He was issued a sober absolution, and dismissed to rejoin his comrades when they eventually returned from the gardens. Garen, by contrast, did not compromise his manly dignity with any such show of weakness, but did end up curled on his side taking a nap, his nerves having been overworked by the day's events and the shame of his present position. He was carried back to his sleep mat and tucked in.

Which meant that Ali Alaan discovered only one boy sitting obstinately in the assigned place when he relieved Master Ko of her duties that afternoon. The other younglings were at noonmeal, and the crèche common room empty but for the inciter of violence doing penance in the far corner.

"So," he addressed the glowering boy. "Another fight. Suppose you tell me why you started this one."

A shake of the head.

Master Ali knelt down and adopted a more severe mien. "Refusing to answer my question is _bad _disobedience," he reminded his small friend.

Obi-Wan squirmed in place over that. "I can't tell," he pleaded. "It's 'portant."

"Nothing is important enough to cause such an uproar," he asserted. "At least, nothing in your experience thus far."

But the boy would not be convinced. "I'm sorry, Master. I'm sorry. It's a secret."

The crèche master exhaled slowly, reaching into the Force for insight. "Ah," he said after a moment. "Does this have something to do with protecting everybody?" Another thought occurred to him. "And where is your tunic?"

"Um…" The child flushed. "Sorry."

Ali Alaan regarded him quizzically. "I have a feeling this has to do with T'k'ta. Am I right?" He leaned forward, fixing the boy with a very penetrating look.

Tears leaked from hiding. "It's 'portant!" Obi-Wan repeated, small eyebrows quirking upward. "I'm leaving and I can't take him and bad things will happen and we fixed it. I'm sorry I hit Bruck. I had to, mostly."

"There is no _had to. _ A Jedi takes responsibility for his actions."

"Yes, Master. I hit him 'sponsibly."

The tall man shook his head and stood. "We have a few minutes yet before noonmeal is finished. Why don't you show me where T'k'ta is?" His tone of voice left no room for questioning or objection.

A moment later, he heard the pattering of very small feet beside him. "Where are we going?" he inquired, calmly.

"To the arbeetum."

And off they went, on a quest to retrieve the nefarious Scourge from his chosen hiding place, and to seek resolution for an affair that had already caused disproportionate strife.


	5. Chapter 5

**Upadana**

* * *

**Scene 5**

Ali Alaan made a polite half bow to a pair of senior Masters holding a hushed conversation along the same path he and Obi-Wan traversed. The Thisspiasian and Iktotchi Jedi smiled benignly upon the youngling as they passed, causing the crèche master to quirk a wry smile. It was true the boy had a round face and a scintillating Force signature – but these were counterbalanced by a truly challenging spirit. It would be a mistake to think of him as all innocence and sweetness. He was, after all, a Dragon at heart.

"He's right here," the boy mournfully declared, crawling beneath the drooping fronds of a yarbanna tree by the river's edge. Ali Alaan dutifully crawled in after him, though it was a rather tight fit.

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks. "He's gone."

"Are you sure you've got the right spot?"

"Yes. See, here's his lightsaber." The boy plucked at a broken reed. "Somebody took him!"

Master Ali made a swift examination of the scene. "No," he replied, after a moment. "Nobody has been here but you. Look." He pointed out the small smear of mud leading down the steep embankment. "I think your friend T'k'ta tumbled into the water. Gravity is to blame, not sentient malice."

He had to extend an arm swiftly to prevent his young charge from following T'k'ta over the edge.

"Oh no! He fell in?"

The crèche master peered at the burbling stream. "Yes. Though I don't see him. I'm afraid T'k'ta is gone."

"We can rescue him," Obi-Wan suggested, hopefully.

But that would be imprudent. The artificial stream was cycled through a powerful purification pump at one end of its meandering circuit, a machine large enough to pose danger to anyone caught in the current while swimming - one reason behind this activity's proscription. "No, I'm afraid he would already be caught in the filter system by now." He softened his tone slightly, perceiving that the tragedy was hitting his small companion hard. "T'k'ta is merely a thing, Obi-Wan. We will not grieve over the loss of an object."

"But he's the _Scourge_ of the crèche." The boy plopped down, distress emanating off him in waves.

There was a vital lesson here, however – one so essential that its importance outweighed the need to provide succor. Ali Alaan braced himself and pushed onward, settling cross-legged beside the stricken child. "Tell me why T'k'ta is gone."

"Cause he fell in."

"And why is that? What was he doing here in the first place?"

"Garen and me – and I – we hid him."

"Why?"

A terrible pause. Obi-Wan swallowed and dug one finger into the soft mud beside him, troweling a small sinuous furrow in the yielding earth. "'Cause I was afraid Bruck would get him."

Progress. Ali Alaan nodded. "That's right. And why were you so afraid of that?"

"'Cause I'm leaving and I can't take him to portect him."

"Because you are afraid to lose him."

Now the boy had caught wind of where this was headed. He wiped his grimy fingers upon his trouser knees, leaving a dark stain. "Yes, Master," he whispered.

"And why are you afraid to lose him, hm?"

Lower lip thrust out, the boy hunched his shoulders and scowled.

"Because you are attached to T'k'ta, I think. And now you see where that leads. Attachment leads to fear of loss, which leads to anger – _fighting_, young one! – and then to actions that cause suffering. This plot to hide T'k'ta was his undoing. Your attachment has led to T'k'ta disappearing for good. Neither you nor anyone else will be able to sleep with him or to enjoy him now."

It was cruel, but it was needful. A lesson learned now was a disaster averted later. Ali Alaan breathed out his own sympathetic distress, bundled the utterly miserable child into his arms and carried him back to the crèche, with heavy step.

* * *

The two rascals were scheduled to transfer to Troon Palo's clan that evening. They had nothing to pack but their clothing, most of which was in the laundry unit anyway. The boys stood ready at the door with one small satchel apiece, having exchanged farewells with their erstwhile family. Obi-Wan did not have the heart to inform Garen of the afternoon's disaster, and indeed could barely stand to recall T'k'ta's inglorious demise to his own mind. Every time the thought brushed across his awareness, he shoved it aside with a jolt of guilt and dread. His stomach was consequently a mass of tight knots that had nothing to do with excitement over the pending change in living arrangements.

Garen, blissfully ignorant of the recent catastrophe, danced in place, eagerly anticipatingt the joys and challenges of life in Dragon Clan. "Do you think we get to stay up later?" he asked his friend.

When he received no definitive answer, he pressed onward. "We get to learn _saber drills,"_ he breathed, joyously.

Even this did not rouse Obi-Wan from his preoccupied state.

"Master Troon is loud," Garen enthused.

"_You_ are loud," his companion griped.

"_You_ are rude."

They glared at each other, but the incipient struggle was forestalled by the arrival of a Temple all-purpose service droid at the door. Master Ali answered the chime, and was handed a limp and twisted mass of cloth and stuffing.

"This was caught in the filter system for the arboretum river," the dorid's expressionless vocabulator intoned. "Scans indicate it originates from this level."

"Thank you," Master Ali replied, dismissing the messenger with a bow. He folded T'k'ta's mangled body into a corner of his wide sleeve.

Garen's eyes widened like a gaping mynock's mouth.

Obi-Wan bit his lower lip. "Is he… dead?"

The tall man stooped a little. "A few more stitches and a spell in the dryer, and he will be able to return to his Scourging duties."

The boys nodded, one in confusion and one in relief.

"Would you like to hold him a last time before you depart?" Ali Alaan inquired.

But Obi-Wan's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "No."

The crèche master straightened. "That is wise. You are truly ready to move on."

The boy threw his shoulders back and blinked rapidly. "You can portect everybody, Master. I know. I can sleep without T'k'ta, too."

"Good. Master Palo will be very pleased to have you with him."

Garen Muln tugged at his sleeve and bestowed a warm and affectionate parting hug upon both T'k'ta and Ali Alaan, while his small companion maintained a stoic rigidity and silence.

The crèche master extended a hand and brushed large fingers over the boy's head. "Attachment is forbidden, but I will still miss you, Obi-Wan," he said. "May the Force be with you."

A docent waited to escort the two younglings to their new home; they bowed deeply to Ali Alaan and set off in her wake, small strides carrying them toward the future's wide horizon. The tall man watched them retreat around a corner and then returned to his own domain, the Scourge of the Creche – somewhat worse for wear – tucked securely beneath one arm.

* * *

**Finis**


End file.
